


A Little Snow, A Little Peace

by thekeyholder



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War I, Christmas, Hurt/Comfort, Languages, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 22:32:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17353841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekeyholder/pseuds/thekeyholder
Summary: Christmas 1914. The armies on the Western front have an armistice, a brave initiative started by Jim Gordon, an American volunteer, and Oswald Kapelput, a Hungarian soldier. These days of peace will forever seal their fates.





	A Little Snow, A Little Peace

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this story idea ever since I saw the amazing and historically accurate [2014 Sainsbury's Christmas ad](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NWF2JBb1bvM). It makes me bawl my eyes out every time I watch it, so I was surprised to discover that the main characters are called Jim and Otto... guys, it was meant to be a gobblepot story.
> 
> Disclaimer: I tried to be as historically accurate as possible. The German might not be completely correct - I still struggle with this language. xD 
> 
> Submitted for the Gobblepot Winter 2018 event - prompt 'wreath'
> 
> Many thanks to Nekomata58919 for the beta!
> 
> I hope you enjoy, I am super nervous about this one because I just really liked the idea and wanted to do it justice. :)

_18th December 1914_

 

There was sunshine and everything around was emerald green, from the grass blades to the rich foliage of the trees, except the snow caps on the mountains in the distance, gleaming white against the blue sky. A pale yellow butterfly was fluttering about in the summer breeze which carried his mother’s humming.

 

“Oswald… Oswald.”

 

_Mother must be looking for him._

 

“Oswald!”

 

He bolted awake violently as Zsasz shook his shoulder with no gentleness. “Kapelput, for fuck’s sake! Get up, Striebl wants to see you!”

 

He shivered, looking up at the grey sky. His dream, or memory, had long vanished. Ambling through the ankle-deep mud, he wondered how had his mind brought forth such images and to what purpose. What was the point of dreaming of sunshine if he’d never feel it again in this cold hell?

 

Striebl was reading a letter when Oswald entered the cramped office. “Kapelput, finally. I was starting to think you deserted.”

 

He didn’t say anything. Best not to provoke.

 

“There are two pieces of news you have to convey to the Hungarians: everyone shall receive a gift from the Kaiser. This is a great honour.”

 

There was silence, the lieutenant preoccupied with another letter.

 

Oswald coughed. “And the other news, sir?”

 

“According to a letter intercepted by one of our men, the British might launch an attack soon. Be prepared.”

 

Oswald rubbed his face when he left. The sound of gunshots never stopped.

 

* * *

 

_18th December 1914_

 

“Yankee! Oi, yankee!”

 

Jim turned around slowly. He was about to go to bed, so he really hoped no one was trying to dump some task on him.

 

Luckily, it was just Harvey Bullock, his only friend here. He was transferred a month ago, after most of his troop was bombed. They probably bonded over being outsiders: Harvey was the only Scot in the platoon. He said he'd rather befriend an American than be caught being chummy with an Englishman.

 

“Ye got a letter. Wanna eat first or you off with it?”

 

Jim sighed as he looked at the envelope. It was his mother's handwriting. Letters were something to be savoured in silence and solace, like a slice of the finest chocolate cake. He needed that cake desperately, but it could wait a bit more.

 

“Let's eat first.”

 

There were some soldiers milling about in the ‘cafeteria’. Jim couldn't help but notice how all of them looked exhausted and miserable, old beyond their years. He felt the same way.

 

“Is it still on tomorrow?” Jim asked.

 

“Aye, bright and early. Maybe if we finish them, we can still go home in time for Christmas.”

 

They both laughed at the ridiculousness of that thought.

 

Jim wanted to get away from the bombs, death and mud. He just wanted to feel human again.

 

* * *

 

_21st December 1914_

 

He'd survived the English offensive. He wasn't sure if he was glad about it or not. He had to smile, because Mother would certainly disapprove of that thought. God, if she knew… Oswald tried not to share the terrible things in his letters, avoiding them as much as possible. It would have upset her, and that was the last thing he wanted.

 

He was helping Victor fix a part of the trench that had collapsed the previous night. It was dirty work, especially with the damned rain still coming down. Oswald had never seen this much rain. He wondered if he’d ever feel dry again.

 

They got to the bottom, where Kovács was lying dead, buried under the mud.

 

Victor took off his hat.

 

_“Szegény lélek.”_ Poor soul.  


* * *

 

_23rd December 1914_

 

“Do not fraternise with the enemy!”

 

Jim wanted to punch Barnes, his superior, who was shouting this order that came from the big bosses, the ones making up battle plans in gilded rooms and whose boots have never been mucked by the mud of the Western front.

 

“Ye know, you’ve never told me why you joined a war that’s not really yours,” Harvey said as he sat next to Jim. “Some baccy?” he asked, offering Jim cigarettes from the tin box he got for Christmas.

 

Jim took his time lighting the cigarette and taking a drag. People always asked him this, but there wasn’t an easy way to explain it. “It was just the right thing to do. It wasn’t fair what Germany did, and since my country hasn’t joined yet-”

 

But really, it was to follow Roger’s example and to make their parents proud.

 

His parents wanted him home now after what had happened to his brother…

 

Bombing shook the trench.

 

_Come back home, Jim. Come back to the farm. We can’t lose you too._

 

He couldn’t give up. He’d made a promise to Roger and he’d never break it.

 

“You’re a good lad,” Harvey said and blew smoke towards the sky.

 

There was silence for a minute, before the machine guns started again.

 

Harvey took out the box he got from the King and grimaced at the plum pudding. “God, I wish the ol’ fart had sent some bevvy instead.”

 

Jim laughed. “Sent what?” Sometimes it felt like Harvey was speaking another language.

 

“Bevvy. Drink, ya bawbag. What do they teach you over there?”

 

Jim smiled and stole half of the pudding.

 

* * *

 

_24th December 1914_

 

No one even tried to make a half-hearted effort at playing war. Not today. Silence was refreshing.

 

Two of the German boys, the very young ones, somehow managed to procure little fir trees, weak things with thin branches. The soldiers cheered, though, these small reminders of home and Christmas lifting their spirits.

 

As soon as it got dark, they lit the candles with matches and put them on the fir trees. Victor was especially excited and he suggested placing the trees on top of the trenches, so that those bastard English would also enjoy Christmas.

 

The soldiers sat around and told stories of their families, laughing when someone recounted of their childhood antics. Even Striebl smiled and maybe the _stollen_ he was offered softened his cold heart, so he let the boys have some beer.

 

“ _Wir sollen etwas singen_!” Yes, yes, music was what was lacking.

 

Striebl’s deep baritone rang out clearly. _“Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht…”_

 

After a moment of surprise, everyone joined in.

 

* * *

 

_24th December 1914_

 

“I cannae believe it stopped fecking raining!” Harvey exclaimed, looking up.

 

Jim grinned at his enthusiasm. “No soaked clothes tonight.”

 

It was starting to get colder, though, and Jim had never been more grateful for his heavy coat. There was some commotion down the trench; Donovan noticed something on the German side.

 

Jim and Harvey joined the others, trying to find out whether it was good or bad news.

 

“I don’t understand, it’s just lights. All along the parapet,” the sentry said, turning the periscope and letting Jim see it for himself.

 

Donovan was right, there were lights, seemingly floating in the air. They were mounted on something, but it was impossible to see from this distance.

 

“Do you think it’s some trick?”

 

Jim put his hands on his hips, looking at the ground. Could it be that the Germans were trying to lull them and then attack? Could they be so ruthless? In three months, he’d seen more horrors than a man should in a hundred lifetimes, but he didn’t want to believe anyone could be so cruel.

 

“No, it must be some Christmas tradition,” he said finally, watching as the fear in Donovan’s eyes diminished a bit.

 

“Yeah, that’s all, lad,” Harvey said, patting the boy’s shoulder. He was barely sixteen, no need to worry him. “If you see something else, just shout.”

 

“Christmas post!”

 

Jim was surprised that even he received something. He thought the letter from his parents would be the last one he’d get for a while. He instantly recognised the round, neat handwriting.

 

“Your sweetheart?” Harvey peeked curiously over his shoulder.

 

Jim laughed, shook his head. “No, it’s from my nan. She swore never to talk to us if we left for the war…”

 

He realised his slip of using the plural. He'd never told anyone about what happened to Roger. He blushed, opening the package. It contained a knitted black scarf which he slung around his neck, a letter and a chocolate, both of which he hid in his coat.

 

“So how about you? Is that from _your_ sweetheart?”

 

“Yeah, Scottie. Scarlett Murray.” Harvey handed Jim a picture he received.

 

“She’s very pretty.”

 

Harvey smiled. “Aye, prettiest girl I know. We got engaged in secret before I left.”

 

“You have to return then.”

 

Harvey nodded as he opened the letter, and Jim did the same.

 

Many men had sweethearts and families back home. Jim often wondered what it would be like if he’d had someone too. Not family, but someone to have romantic feelings for. Would that change his behaviour? Put a smile on his lips on bad days? Make him more careful, more determined to survive?

 

Maybe, maybe…

 

He took out the letter and started reading it – most soldiers had similar preoccupations. He had half a mind about eating the chocolate, but then thought better of it. There would be darker days.

 

He was so immersed in his nan’s recollection of the events back home, that he didn’t notice the sounds at first.

 

“What’s that?”

 

He looked up, ears pricking. A song, coming from the other side of No Man’s Land. Something very soothing and familiar.

 

“I’ll be damned, it’s Silent Night!”

 

Jim looked at Harvey with wide eyes, but his friend was right. The murmurs went through the zig-zagging trenches like wildfire. “It’s Silent Night. It’s the German Silent Night!”

 

Although they didn’t know who started it, soon the English army was singing Silent Night as well, scratchy and nice voices all united in a melody that soared over the land and interwaved harmoniously with the sounds from the German side.

 

Jim’s chest was suddenly filled with emotion, so much that he feared it would all pour out if he opened his mouth. He gave Harvey a good pat on his shoulder. That night they finally managed to rest, their sleep interrupted no more by shells.

 

* * *

 

_25th December 1914_

 

Jim was the first to wake up that morning, too excited to sleep after the previous night. He huffed incredulously when he realised that the Sun, though weakly, was finally shining over them for the first time in many weeks. There was a roar in his heart as others started rousing, and as he watched a little robin soar into the air, he made his decision too.

 

It was a nice day, a nice day to make peace.

 

He got up, knees starting to tremble as he stepped on the ladder. He’d rather attempt making a good deed and becoming a victim of good faith than let the chance pass. He took off his hat and raised both of his hands, so that the German soldiers could see he had no ill intentions.

 

The wood creaked under his weight which woke up the other soldiers. Harvey was the first to react, scrambling in panic. “Jim, no!”

 

There was some commotion on the other side, guns cocking, until a voice rang out, bidding them to stop. “HALT!”

 

Jim didn’t stop, slowly climbed the steps, fear making his every muscle shiver until he saw a head peeking out from the German trenches, slowly rising with a pair of equally trembling hands.

 

Perhaps today was not the day he was going to die.

 

* * *

 

_25th December 1914_

 

Oswald had never been more afraid than when he stepped on the ladder to meet the crazy English soldier who had climbed out of the trench. What if he was shot from all sides? But he could see that the man was just as afraid as him, eyes wide and unblinking, hands shaking. It was as if someone was holding a mirror up to him. All they had was blind trust.

 

But the more steps they took on No Man’s Land, the braver they became.

 

The English soldier was young, a bit taller than Oswald, and blond. However, Oswald’s attention was attracted to his eyes, big and blue, the most colourful thing in the bleak landscape. His heart pounded when they took the last steps, and then they shook hands.

 

Oswald was certain this would be a glorious moment. He looked down at their hands and then up and smiled at the young man, warmth travelling from his frozen fingers towards his whole body. Everything would be alright.

 

“My name is Jim Gordon,” he said with a tentative smile, and Oswald marvelled at the words. He had a very basic knowledge of English, but the language was quite similar to German anyway.

 

_“Mein Name ist Oswald Kapelput,”_ he tried with German, knowing that his native Hungarian would be too difficult.

 

“Pleased to meet you.”

 

Oswald nodded. That was when they noticed that soldiers from both sides had followed their example and were now greeting each other. Jim squeezed his hand and they smiled at each other.

 

This moment wouldn’t just go down in their memory, but in _history_.

 

* * *

 

It was as if a spell had fallen over the two sides. Jim supposed everyone was sick of the fighting and wanted at least one day when they didn’t have to think of that. Unfortunately, walking on No Man’s Land reminded them of the terrible reality: bodies from both armies were strewn across the bare land, covered by a dusting of fresh snow.

 

So the first step was to honour their fallen comrades. Oswald offered him a shovel timidly and they joined the others, digging next to each other. That was when Jim noticed this fellow’s uniform was a bit different from the others. In fact, he’d seen at least three different types in the other army.

 

“Oswald? Are you German?” Jim pointed at him. _“Deutsch?”_ That was one of the few words he knew in German.

 

Oswald shook his head. “ _Ungarisch_.”

 

“Uhhh… Hungarian?” Jim guessed, and Oswald nodded with a smile, then pointed at Jim. _“Englisch?”_

 

“No, American.”

 

Jim smiled at Oswald’s astonished expression, then laughed when Oswald called him a cowboy.

 

“You’re not wrong, my parents have a farm.”

 

Jim wasn’t sure if Oswald understood, but he nodded. They stayed silent while they finished digging. Oswald surprised Jim when he helped him carry an English soldier’s body. Enmity seemed to have been suspended for the day. Next, Jim helped Oswald with someone from his army. Jim saw that this was a very young boy, probably sixteen or so, and he was wearing the same uniform as Oswald. In fact, Oswald seemed very mournful.

 

“Did you know him?” he asked quietly.

 

Oswald nodded. “Ádám. _Buta fiú, háborúba indulni ilyen fiatalon_.” (Silly boy, going to war this young).

 

Jim didn’t understand the words, it was probably Hungarian as it did not sound like German. Oswald had a very expressive face, particularly his eyes reflected everything that was going on inside him.

 

Once every soldier was buried, services were performed in both English and German. They knelt beside each other and when he heard Oswald sniffling, Jim grasped Oswald’s fingers. He wasn’t sure what he was doing. Was he fraternising with the enemy? Oswald seemed like a nice and sensible man, though. He had gone through the same bad things, hit by the same rain and bombs.

 

Oswald held onto his hand until the end of the service.

 

Afterwards, they turned towards nicer activities. Everyone brought the food they received for Christmas; English and German or Hungarian soldiers sitting in circles and sharing it.

 

“I see you found a new friend,” Harvey said as he sat down next to Jim, looking at Oswald a bit suspiciously.

 

“This is Oswald. Oswald, this is Harvey. He’s Scottish,” Jim made the introductions.

 

_“Haben Sie einen Rock?”_

 

Harvey was confused. “Rock? Whatever is that?”

 

Oswald tried to mimic a skirt.

 

“That’s called a kilt, lad.”

 

“Kilt!” Oswald exclaimed and Jim smiled at him.

 

“He has one!” Jim snitched, laughing as Harvey punched his arm.

 

“Oh, shut up, Jim!”

 

“I want see kilt,” Oswald tried, blushing.

 

“Oooh, he speaks English!” Harvey exclaimed. “Are you a spy?”

 

Oswald shook his head, laughing. “School.”

 

Jim stuffed his face, looking at Oswald with admiration. “He speaks at least three languages: German, Hungarian and English.”

 

“Little English,” Oswald protested, smiling as he took the chocolate pudding Jim offered him. “Little French.”

 

“Are you a professor or something?” Harvey asked, eyeing Oswald even more suspiciously.

 

_“Nein, ich lese viel.”_ Seeing the confused expressions of the two men, Oswald mimicked leafing through a book.

 

Harvey soon wandered off to some other group where they had Bratwurst sizzling. Vale, a British soldier who owned a camera, came up to Jim and Oswald and asked if they wanted their picture taken.

 

“Of course,” Jim said hurriedly, putting his arm around Oswald's shoulder.

 

Afterwards, Jim fumbled with his coat pocket. He wished he could ask Oswald so many things, but he wasn’t sure it would be polite, or if he could even express those things. He’d never realised he’d need another language, and now he felt stupid. Especially with Oswald being so smart.

 

He remembered the picture he always carried in his pocket and took it out, handing it to Oswald who held it as if it were a treasure. It really was to Jim, a photograph of his family taken in front of their house before tragedy befell them.

 

“That’s my mom and my dad. They have a big farm in the South, in Texas.”

 

Oswald mouthed the word Texas, eyes wide with wonder.

 

“We have all kinds of animals and a land too. There’s always a lot of work there.”

 

Oswald was listening to him intently, taking in every detail. Jim blushed; no one had ever paid so much attention to him.

 

“That’s me and the other fellow, that’s… Roger.” He swallowed hard.

 

_“Dein Bruder?”_ Oswald asked quietly.

 

“Yes, my older brother. He’s… uh… he died. In October. He was on a French ship that got bombed.”

 

Oswald put his hand over Jim’s. _“Szívből sajnálom.”_

 

Jim nodded. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. Cold wind blew through the land, and he felt Oswald shiver.

 

“Do you have any family?”

 

Oswald took a picture from the inner pocket of his coat, a garment that was rather light for this weather. The picture had two, very aristocratic women on it.

 

“My mother,” Oswald said with a shy, but proud smile, pointing at the middle-aged figure with rich, curly hair.

 

Jim only then realised that based on the clothing and background Oswald probably came from a wealthy family. No wonder he was so well educated.

 

“Is that your sweetheart?” Jim asked, looking at the younger woman on the picture, who was smiling at the camera. She didn’t look related to Oswald. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous about the reply.

 

“Sweetheart?” Oswald’s brows furrowed.

 

“You know, like… someone you love. Fiancée? Wife?”

 

“Ooh!” Oswald exclaimed when he recognised the French word, then laughed. _“Nein, sie ist meine Cousine. Ihre Name ist Dóra.”_

 

“Your cousin,” Jim said and he smiled to himself. He wasn’t sure why he felt so light.

 

“She… sister for me,” Oswald added, ducking his head.

 

“Your English is so good, I feel embarrassed.”

 

Oswald waved, but he was clearly very happy with the praise.

 

“You need to teach me something. How do you say Merry Christmas?”

 

_“Frohe Weihnachten.”_

 

“No, that's German. I meant in Hungarian. That is your mother tongue.”

 

Oswald looked surprised, then he started grinning with mirth shining in his eyes. Jim hadn’t seen a pair of eyes so lively on this front. _“Boldog Karácsonyt!”_

 

“Bol-dog… oh, can you repeat the second half, please?”

 

“Ka - rá - csonyt.” Jim watched Oswald lips, trying to imitate the unfamiliar sounds.

 

Oswald was pleased as punch with his attempts, telling him that it was perfect.

 

Harvey ambled back to them. “You know what I crave now? Some beer.”

 

Oswald perked up. _“Wir haben Bier.”_

 

“Can you bring some?”

 

A devilish smile appeared on Oswald's face. “Kilt tomorrow.”

 

Jim started laughing. “He's a tough negotiator.”

 

“Fine, fine, just bring me some good booze.”

 

Oswald soon came back, carrying a small barrel with the help of one of his comrades, whom Oswald introduced as Victor. His dark eyes looked dangerous, but Jim assumed in war one would mingle with people they might not have associated before.

 

“I'll be damned.”

 

Harvey was incredibly happy for the rest of the day, trying to teach Victor and Oswald Scottish curses and bawdy songs. Jim also had a cup of beer, and he wasn't sure if it was because he hadn't had any alcohol in months, but it tasted very good. It went to his head way too quickly.

 

Unfortunately, it became dark way too soon, so the soldiers needed to go back to their respective trenches. Jim's superior, Captain Barnes, was not too happy about the day's events, so he wanted to break up these newfound camaraderie.

 

“I'll see you tomorrow?” Jim asked as they stood in the middle of the field.

 

“Tomorrow,” Oswald confirmed it.

 

Jim reached out and squeezed his shoulder before he went back. When he looked over his shoulder, Oswald was still there, watching him. They waved at each other like old friends.

 

* * *

 

_26th December 1914_

 

Despite the officers of the two armies not condoning the amicable atmosphere, they could not do anything except remind them that those being too friendly with the enemy, would be punished.

 

Oswald was among the first ones to go back on No Man's Land. He laughed when he saw Jim and Harvey – dressed in a kilt – already waiting for him.

 

“Here's the kilt, happy now?”

 

“Is very pretty.”

 

“All worth it for that beer.”

 

Victor approached them with a leather ball in his hands. _“Fußball?”_

 

“Aye, I'm in! Jim?”

 

“I'm not that familiar with the game,” Jim admitted.

 

Victor and Harvey ran off, while Oswald and Jim enjoyed the sunny weather, walking slowly towards the designated football field.

 

“Didn't you want to play?”

 

Oswald shook his head. “I stay with you.”

 

The game turned out to be extremely funny, especially when Harvey would try to show off and end up flashing his bare backside. Oswald and Jim laughed so hard, they had to hold each other up.

 

“This is what it should be, not fighting and death,” Jim said quietly.

 

“After war…” Oswald started, trying to find the words in English. “What you want to make?”

 

Jim hummed. “Good question. Go back to the farm, help my parents. Before the war, I wanted to be a policeman.”

 

“Very good. You good policeman,” Oswald said certainly, making Jim smile.

 

“How about you?”

 

Oswald shrugged. “Maybe politic?”

 

“You stopped a war and you're smart, you would be good in politics.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

They watched the game for a bit, Oswald blushing when Jim's fingertips tickled the bare skin of his neck as he lifted his dog tag.

 

“Just making sure I memorise your name correctly,” Jim said, his thumb brushing against the small metal plate.

 

Oswald was unable to say anything. He reached out too and took Jim's dog tags in his hand, looking at the green and red pieces. He wished he could take one with him. James Gordon. What a great name! It certainly suited his friend.

 

The football game was drawing to an end - everyone tried to ignore it, but the sounds of war were getting closer and louder.

 

* * *

 

_26th December 1914_

 

“I'm afraid we have to go.” Jim's said, barely audibly, his only consolation that Oswald looked just as sad as he himself felt.

 

When he extended his hand, Oswald took it in both of his, his fingers tracing Jim’s skin delicately. Jim's breath hitched, he hadn't had meaningful human contact in so long. But it wasn't just that. He liked Oswald, and he was absolutely certain that had the circumstances been different, they would have been very good friends.

 

In fact, they were friends right now, divided by an imaginary line traced by people who had no idea what was going on. Oswald must have had similar thoughts for he looked forlorn.

 

Jim knew it was not the cold that made Oswald shiver, but he had decided a while ago that he'd give him his coat.

 

“For you. I don't want you to be cold.”

 

“Thank you,” Oswald said, holding it to his chest tightly, as if in an embrace.

 

Jim held out his hand, because he didn't want to let go yet. He wanted to feel Oswald's touch again.

 

“We will meet some day, alright? Don't die on me.”

 

Oswald's eyes watered and he nodded. “After war.”

 

Jim had a lump in his throat as he smiled. “Boldog Karácsonyt.”

 

His pronunciation was probably passable as Oswald’s whole face lit up. “Merry Christmas, my friend.”

 

They let go of each other, though it was the last thing either of them wanted, but after a two-day break it seemed that war had suddenly sped up and meant to resume even worse, even bloodier. They looked back at each other as much as they could, then went below into the trenches with heavy hearts.

 

Jim vowed to himself that he would survive this, whatever it took.

 

* * *

 

Once in the trench, Oswald put on Jim’s coat and smiled as he buried his nose in the collar. Then he put his hands in the pocket for warmth, but there was something inside one of them.

 

A bar of chocolate.

 

The tears that he’d held back on the battlefield came back with a vengeance. He’d never expected such kindness, not in this place and definitely not from the ‘enemy’. Two days of feeling normal again, and their superiors expected them to go back and shoot at the men who helped forget about their situation... Oswald scoffed and wiped his tears.

 

Instead, he took a piece of paper and a pen.

 

_Dear Mother,_

 

_You would never believe what happened…_

 

* * *

 

_5th January 1915_

 

Jim never knew he could miss a person so badly after only knowing them for a couple of days. He spent all his nights watching the dark sky, wondering if Oswald was alright. He wished he had something of Oswald’s… he really needed to pester Vale about developing those pictures when they would be sent back to the shelter.

 

* * *

 

_29th January 1915_

 

Every time Oswald had to fire his gun, he was praying that Jim was far away, out of harm’s way. Oswald wanted to know him close, but he’d preferred an ocean to be between them. He hoped he would soon change his mind and go home, but he didn’t seem that kind of man, and Oswald respected him for it.

 

* * *

 

_14th March 1915_

 

Jim had never been more grateful than when he was moved to a different part of the front. He’d been living in fear that one of his bullets would injure, or even worse, kill Oswald. And though this move meant that he’d be further away and make it more difficult to ever see his Christmas friend, it gave him peace of mind.

 

Of course, he was very much aware that a lot of things could end their lives. Frost, illness, infection…

 

But they had made a promise to each other and Jim felt that he finally had a reason to get through it.

 

* * *

 

_22nd December 1916_

 

Oswald was staring at the hospital’s ceiling. He knew all the mold and water stains by heart now, all the rough patches and dubious spots. There wasn’t much to do here, except for reading the newspaper in the mornings. He’d kindly inquired about other reading material, but there was none. Books were a luxury

 

The problem was, it seemed like carrying on with this senseless war seemed to be the one and only priority, the only thing worth financing. Medical supplies were low and so he didn’t receive as many painkillers as it should have been. He wiped his sweaty brow and glanced at his bandaged knee.

 

Could have been worse.

 

He hadn’t so far broken his promise to Jim, though of course he’d felt the cold hand of death around his neck quite a few times. He so hoped Jim was fine and not injured in any way… it would be a shame if that handsome face was scarred.

 

Oswald chastised himself at that thought. Dreaming about an American soldier whom he met two years ago, where could it lead? But it was often the one thought that kept him going, that made him crawl to a safer place even though the pain in his leg was killing him and he was losing so much blood he was feeling faint. Holding onto life until Victor got a doctor to see him.

 

He was told a few days prior that once he got better, he would be moved to the Eastern Front where the situation wasn't the best. But he had advanced enough in the ranks that he didn’t have to be in the front line, but employed as a strategist.

 

Careful not to jostle his right leg too much, Oswald turned on his side.

 

He wondered if Jim still remembered him.

 

* * *

 

_25th December 1916_

 

The holidays that year were bleak and grey. Jim often wondered if he’d dreamed the first Christmas spent on the battlefield, but Harvey always confirmed that it was real. His friend mostly missed the beer, or so he said. Jim knew very well that everyone was happy that day, and he missed that feeling.

 

He opened the English-Hungarian dictionary he managed to get his hands on and took out the two pictures he owned. The one of his family was becoming faded, he should ask his parents to send one. But then that one would not have Roger in it…

 

The second picture was the one he finally managed to get from Vale after a lot of begging. Oswald and him just looked so happy. The black and white picture did not show the difference between them, the khaki of the English and the greyish blue of the Hungarian uniforms. Just two friends smiling at the camera.

 

Oswald with his delicate features and pretty smiles. Jim might have been embarrassed before the war to… like a man that way, but he didn’t really care. War really put things into perspective. Oswald was his ray of hope, and he would follow and find him one day.

 

He wondered if Oswald still remembered him.

 

* * *

 

_6th April 1917_

 

The news announced that the US entered the war.

 

Oswald was worried. Even if Jim had gone back to the farm, he would probably be enlisted and he’d be in danger again.

 

He just wished he could somehow receive news of how his friend was faring. Was he alright? Was he injured? Of course, a letter sent to the enemy would be intercepted and Oswald interrogated harshly. It really was unfair that they had been cut off so crudely.

 

Watching the dense rain hit the window, he rubbed his right knee with a sigh. It was worse on rainy days. At least he wasn’t outside in the mud anymore. He was limping now, which had frustrated him at the beginning, but then he got a cane and his mother said he looked distinguished. Oswald wondered if Jim would mind.

 

Flustered, he returned to the documents in front of him.

 

* * *

 

_6th April 1917_

 

“So, yer people finally decided to join the war,” Harvey said as they were enjoying a very late dinner before going to bed.

 

They were both lieutenants now, and most of their original platoon was gone. Times had changed tremendously.

 

“That they did.”

 

“Are you going to join them?”

 

Jim looked up in surprise at the fear he heard in his friend’s voice. “No, Harvey, I think I’m alright here.”

 

“Good, otherwise I would have kicked you in the bollocks.”

 

Jim snorted. “I hope this will speed it up.”

 

“It has to end at some point.”

 

* * *

 

_11th November 1918_

 

The war officially ended.

 

It was clear already a few months ago that Germany and its allies would not be able to carry on, but it was good to finally have an armistice. If Oswald never heard a gunshot again, it would be too soon.

 

He was so tired… unfortunately, there wasn’t much time to rest. Things seemed to be collapsing in his country. He was afraid of how politics were going; the country seemed boiling with years of suppressed anger. Oswald wondered if perhaps it would be prudent to move somewhere else, but then how might Jim find him?

 

* * *

 

_11th November 1918_

 

The atmosphere was completely different on Jim’s side. Everyone was celebrating, drinking and being merry. He had never been more relieved in his life. The nightmare was over.

 

“We did it, mate!” Harvey shouted too loudly as he put his arm around Jim’s shoulder.

 

“I’ll drink to that,” Jim said, raising his glass.

 

“So, what’s next?”

 

“I’ll go home with the next ship if I can,” Jim said with no hesitation, but he knew Harvey was expecting more detailed plans. “I’ll… I’ll come come back in a couple of months or so.”

 

“Ah, you just love the English, don’t ye? Want to find a pretty lass and marry her?”

 

Jim looked away. “Not… not exactly. I think I might travel around Europe.”

 

Harvey nodded, pretending to be nonchalant as he lit his cigarette. “Going to Hungary by any chance?”

 

“I…”

 

“Come on, I’ve seen you looking at that picture. I’m sure your little Hungarian cockroach is alive.”

 

“Shut up, he’s not a cockroach.”

 

“Just saying, he’s that smart type that survives everything.”

 

Jim didn’t say anything. He didn’t dare to hope, he couldn’t bear it if anything happened to Oswald.

 

There was a hand on his shoulder. “Jimmy, it’s alright. I swear I’m not judging. You two clicked, found a connection. I do hope you find him. But after, you have to promise me to visit. You know my address.”

 

Jim opened his mouth, but no words came out. He blushed and nodded.

 

“And you can bring your friend too, of course.”

 

Jim smiled so wide he thought his face would split open.

 

* * *

 

_11th February 1919_

 

It was a bright winter day, though the Sun barely had any power and a chilly wind ruffled his hair. As his mother would say in Hungarian, _a napnak foga van_ : the Sun had teeth. Oswald pulled up his shoulders as he carefully walked through the snow, the coat Jim had given him a bit too large on his bony shoulders.

 

Luckily, Népliget Park was empty, no one dared to go out in this weather. He had a small wreath in his hand, made of evergreens and red carnations. It was the three-month anniversary since the armistice, and Oswald wanted to honour the soldiers who had died for their country.

 

There was a small, almost insignificant peace memorial on one of the paths, hidden between the oak trees. He cleaned it of snow and placed the wreath by the base, where two dry flower bouquet laid already. It was peaceful and quiet, just what he needed after the everyday mess of the parliament.

 

His career in politics had taken off after the war, especially with all the parties vying for power. Oswald was concerned about the fate of his corner of the world; there were rumours of the country splitting up, and he didn’t want greedy men to be the ones to decide what would happen there. His passionate speeches even made it into newspapers, his mother dutifully collecting them.

 

Oswald stood there for a while, letting his mind wander. The conclusion he always came to about the war was that there had been too much death for nothing. The only person that he’d known from his old platoon who was still alive was Victor, back to his old habits, no doubt.

 

The sound of snow being trodden upon made Oswald look behind his back. A blond man with a black coat was walking towards him with determined steps. Something about the figure seemed familiar and Oswald remained like that, half-turned, watching him. There was a crazy thought in his head and his heart started beating faster.

 

Could it be him?

 

And then the man smiled and raised his arm. “Oswald!”

 

The cane slipped from his hand and he hurried as much as his leg allowed while Jim ran towards him. He was in Jim’s arms a few seconds later, holding onto him for dear life, grasping Jim’s coat at his back. He didn’t want to let go lest this was a dream.

 

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” Jim murmured as he rubbed his back and Oswald only then noticed that his body was heaving with sobs.

 

He wanted to stop, but couldn’t. He’d been holding back for so long, he’d envisioned this so many times that he had difficulty believing this was real. How many times had he imagined Jim ringing on his door or sitting down beside him in his favourite café.

 

Oswald looked up and Jim smiled at him. He was the same beautiful man he remembered, but his features were sharper, less boyish. His eyes, though, his eyes were just as pretty and he thought he saw fondness there, so Oswald reached out and put his gloved hand against Jim’s cheek. “You found me.”

 

Jim reached out too and placed his right hand on Oswald’s cheek. Although it was cold, Oswald didn’t flinch, but leaned in. Jim caressed his sharp cheekbone with his thumb.

 

“Always.” Jim’s eyes were searching, a nervous flicker in them as he looked down. He swallowed nervously, and Oswald wanted to help – he could see that Jim was afraid to say something.

 

“My friend…” Oswald started, caressing Jim’s face.”

 

“I will always find you… _édes szívem._ ” (My sweetheart.)

 

“Jim…” Oswald was astonished after hearing such an endearment from Jim’s lips, in Hungarian no less. He leaned in and kissed Jim, oh so softly, but his whole body buzzing. It was too short, but they couldn’t do it out in the open where anyone could see them.

 

Jim had other plans, though, he followed Oswald and claimed another kiss, then leaned his forehead against Oswald’s.

 

“You learnt Hungarian.”

 

“That’s pretty much all I know.” Jim chuckled. “You’ll have to teach me.”

 

Oswald grinned and looked around before he pecked Jim’s lips. “That is a _csók_.”

 

“I think it will be my favourite word.”

 

Oswald laughed. “Come, we must go.”

 

“We have so much to talk about,” Jim said and took Oswald’s cane from the snow, giving it to him.

 

“Yes, yes. We get home and you tell me everything. Mother will be happy to meet you.”

 

Jim offered his arm. “Lead the way.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you got here, thank you very much, it means a lot. :) I have a few notes to make
> 
> 1\. The mountains Oswald sees in his dream: if you check the current Hungary's geography, you won't see any of the sort. The Austro-Hungarian Empire used to contain Transylvania too, though, and I always like to canon Oswald hailing from there :))
> 
> 2\. When I started watching Gotham, I was suspicious of all the Hungarian stuff (this was before Oswald confirmed his origins). One of the big "signs" was Victor's surname. Zsasz is a bastardisation of the quite common name Szász (which actually means Saxon xD). So that's why I made him a Hungarian soldier.
> 
> 3\. As far as I know, there's no WWI memorial in Népliget Park. There definitely wasn't one in 1919, and I couldn't find any other in Budapest built in that year. I think they were too busy with the crumbling of the empire.


End file.
